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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954664">it's alright, i'm moving on</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/opanimeboy/pseuds/opanimeboy'>opanimeboy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A3! BB : PASSION HISOHOMA [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A3! (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Cigarette mention, Hyperactive imagination, M/M, Slice of Life, depictions of anxiety and panic attacks, every Mankai member mentioned, gratuitous thinking, post Risky Game</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:14:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/opanimeboy/pseuds/opanimeboy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Homare Arisugawa has a new anthology in the works! The theme is "PASSION," and he needs to figure out its meaning. With the help of Mankai's motley crew and his roommate, teammate, and friend, Hisoka - he does just that.</p><p>-</p><p>“You? Stumped? How rare!” Izumi said through a mouthful of steamed vegetables.</p><p>Sakyo was seated beside him and they shared a look when Taichi choked from inhaling everything too fast. His neighbor Azami beat him on the back and then elbowed him in the stomach as a friendly warning.</p><p>“Do you have a deadline?” asked Sakyo.</p><p>“Not really. It has to be done by the end of the year which it will be -- I just have to figure out the schematics of it. Having one or two, or seven as in my case, poems wouldn’t be enough to fill out even the smallest of pamphlets!” he popped a potato after lamenting.</p><p>“That’s a start at least. When I write, I just do it all at once so I don’t leave anything out. Revisions can happen at any time, but if I don’t have anything, nothing can be fixed,” sagely nodded Tsuzuru.</p><p>“Sure is wise for someone who almost dies every time he writes.”</p><p>“Ripping off a bandaid isn’t supposed to be pleasant, Masumi.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arisugawa Homare/Mikage Hisoka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A3! BB : PASSION HISOHOMA [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A3! Big Bang 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's alright, i'm moving on</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ixlE_dxyU2U">into light that will save my soul</a> </p><p>Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful art by <a href="https://twitter.com/seb77n">Sebun</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/A3BigBang2021/works/29907048">here's</a> where you can go leave a kudos or comment specifically for them!<br/>This is my piece for the A3! Big Bang on Twitter! Thank you to my lovely artist and beta reader (who I did not utilize, but I still appreciate you being there). Could not, and would not have done it without you both. &lt;3 Last but not least - a huge thank you to the mods for organizing this! It was my first big collaborative project.</p><p>@ readers: There's gonna be a free PDF released soon with all of the <a href="https://twitter.com/a3bigbang">Big Bang</a> participant's works if you're interested!</p><p>This is a work I feel alright about, but it def made me wanna up my writing game. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! c:</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Dedicated to my passion.</strong>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>❄</p><p> </p><p>Homare stirred, swaddled in a soft scarlet blanket feeling well-rested and cozy. His alarm, an orchestra piece he’d recently discovered, dragged him to consciousness with the volume currently crescendoing to the first crash. A small smile grew and grew as he listened to it swell, excitement starting to thrum warmer under his comfy spot, and he wiggled and woke to the beat and pauses. Just as it reached peak tension, strings of the bows like an arrow on release, a pillow collided with his face.</p><p>“Good morning, Hisoka-kun!” Homare said, muffled from being smothered.</p><p>“Turn it off already,” exhaustedly sighed Hisoka.</p><p>He was close, vertically above Homare, so close that their heads could have bumped if their shared bed frame headboard wasn’t separating them. Homare was quite awake by now and took note that Hisoka hadn’t moved an inch before or since he’d awoken besides opening his mouth. Elation the size of a rapidly puffing balloon rose inside Homare over the fact they got to experience the song together, an epic tale with cutting emotions in just six minutes and forty eight seconds, regardless of Hisoka’s distaste for mornings or any time he wasn’t napping.</p><p>It was going to be an absolutely astounding day -- he could feel it in his soul.</p><p>Homare abruptly sat up, his sheets kicked off his legs gracefully. The residual warmth had the still air chilly, but it did nothing to dampen his mood. After a luxurious stretch from raised arms to popping toes, Hisoka let out a displeased whine. Homare laughed lightly and pat Hisoka’s marshmallow hair with the utmost care before he clambered down the bunk bed’s lacquered step ladder. A small thought bubbled into his periphery and popped just as soon as it floated by that he should dust off their room sooner than later if the texture of the steps was anything to go by. Hisoka's snore was an agreement; Homare couldn't ever recall him cleaning their shared room, ever. Not a problem as Homare delighted in taking care of Hisoka, but a bit of a problem because Homare was a busy man.</p><p>The music had played as background noise for the start of said glorious and busy day and was on its way to a serene end when his feet hit the ornate long rug. Yes, it definitely needed a vacuum. His desk right behind the ladder was ravaged last night from the need to find a specific French colloquial in a book read years ago, so his phone was plugged in under a particularly heavy tome. It shined bright in the early morning light and read 07:04AM, and Homare took his time letting the song end while he glanced at his new notifications and set some cleaning alarms.</p><p>“Hisoka, would you like me to bring you something to drink?”</p><p>Another soft snore replied, and Homare grinned as he began to get presentable. One face wash, teeth brush, hair comb, outfit selection later was done with finesse and a hop jump shimmy skip in his step until he was slipping on his owl slippers. He felt akin to a flower in bloom and felt his heart do something similar when realizing how quaint it was to feel like that in a flower themed company.</p><p>It was never truly silent in the dorms, but it was peaceful when he closed the door with golden numbers 205 emblazoned on its peeling paint.</p><p>He had a meeting to attend with his editor at 10, and it was just about time for them to talk about his next work. Often applauded for his craftsmanship despite putting out novels at breakneck speed, or as fast as writing, editing, publishing, publicizing, and release repeatedly went, he was beyond excited to get to it already. Hisoka had just taken part of Mankai's final Mixed Troupe Play and had inspired him to give his all in his original craft, but his associates recommended him wait until their company's theme had been decided. At this point, the curiosity tickled his mind 24 hours a day for weeks and he was fit to burst. Truly unbecoming just how long they waited to make an appointment with him when he had his ball point pen poised to make history at any second.</p><p>Upon entering the main hall with its kitchen and living room, he was greeted by the usual fellow earlybirds. Omi was already casting spells and mixing potions behind the bar, a gentle giant contradiction that made the place smell good enough to eat. Most of the school children were milling about in various states of awakeness, and it was just as endearing and funny to see now as it was the first time. Yuki in particular had some severe bedhead that reminded him of his own, so Homare didn't dare tease lest he think himself Icarus and fly way, way too close to a son, and get burned so bad he'll have to shave his head in shame. It was play on words because Yuki had “sick burns” as Icarus was… ah, things were getting away from him much too quickly. Regardless, the appeal of going bald as a statement never did disappear from his youth, but he quite liked his picturesque slant cut. It said "Look!" while being just the right amount of chic.</p><p>Speaking of chic --  Kazunari's airport gift shop coffee mug nursed Izumi with toffee coffee. She was not an early bird try as she might. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Itaru, they appeared to be supporting each other like battle brothers, crutches after yesterday's battle and for today's war. Itaru was in his impeccable attire and demeanor already, but the bags he hadn't covered up yet spoke of someone in the middle of Mr. Itaru Chigasaki and Itaru-kun-slash-<em> taruchi </em> which Chikage and Banri so cutely called him. To be split into two people must be an incredible power -- the time and social management of it all had Homare sigh enviously.</p><p>It was then that Tasuku and Tsumugi entered the morning space a bit noisily to Homare’s surprise. Tsumugi wasn't known for raising his voice and Tasuku wasn't known for gesturing just as much as they were then. Homare leaned beside the two sleepy adults, albeit perfect posture opposed to their inevitable hunches, and raised an eyebrow to listen. </p><p> </p><p>[ 'Enter scene' ]</p><p> </p><p>Tasuku: And I'm telling you-- what's the importance? I get reading into it, but the writer is known for sloppy plots.</p><p> </p><p>Tsumugi: I just think that narrators aren't always reliable - <em> that's literally the appeal - </em>and the lack of what's there can be just as telling.</p><p> </p><p>Tasuku: Then why does he describe the scenery with <b>pages</b> of stupid dialogue instead of, oh, I don't know. Character monologues? IT'S A CHARACTER DRIVEN STORY, TSUMUGI!</p><p> </p><p>[ Scene pause. ]</p><p> </p><p>Itaru orated what was on Homare's mind. "Are they drunk this early?"</p><p>"It doesn't look like it. They're usually not this spirited, <em> hah </em> , otherwise, <em> and </em> they're usually on the same side of things, no?" he responded.</p><p>Izumi nodded sagely, or maybe vaguely, and Tasuku perked up towards them. His prominent cupids bow twisted in an emotion unreadable to Homare, but then gave a gruff greeting to them and in turn to everyone in the once quiet room.</p><p>"What was that about?" asked Taichi, toast crumbs falling like silent boulders on his glass plate.</p><p>For as heated as they were before, Tsumugi's puffed up chest deflated. "Sorry to intrude, and good morning. We were just discussing the script of a new play."</p><p>"A dumb play," mumbled Tasuku.</p><p>"A play by a writer he doesn't like," plainly quipped Tsumugi. "I know you know that sometimes something good can come from <em> not </em>intending something. You're an actor."</p><p>Homare felt a stab from that sentence structure and the fact that Tsumugi made it sound alright with a tone two parts soft and melodious, one part petty.</p><p>Maturely, Tasuku wrinkled his nose and shrugged his words off. "Tsumugi, I always agree with you. Please agree with me on this even if you're right. I just really don't want to give that guy any credit."</p><p>"What did a playwright have to do so bad that made <em> you </em>unwilling to even discuss his stuff?" Tsuzuru paled, or maybe that was just his three-hours-of-sleep pallor.</p><p>Tsumugi shook his head, endeared? Confused as well?, and took a seat besides Taichi scribbling some last minute homework answers as Tasuku made his way into the kitchenette. Omi had two exquisitely presented plates ready, and Muku scurried away from the two spacious men with a yogurt in nervous hand and to Taichi’s other side.</p><p>“...that’s not important. And It’s not that I don’t wanna dissect his work, I just know that he is an idiot and probably doesn’t even have anything beyond the surface.”</p><p>“Wow, that’s a bit harsh,” Itaru laughed lightly.</p><p>“Yeah, Tasuku. You’re fantastic at reaching for analysis, so why won’t you give this one another chance?” said Tsumugi. </p><p>“Ahaha, that was kind of rude, too,” monotonously said Izumi before a loud sip.</p><p>Tsumugi pointed at something on Taichi’s paper, and Taichi toast-ily wailed and furiously erased his work. Tasuku placed their platters and resumed his place in the center stage of the room’s attention.</p><p>“Ugh. If I have to give any credit to him, some of his lines are pretty good.”</p><p>“That’s what I’ve been <em> saying </em> for the past twenty minutes!”</p><p>Their discussion devolved into more flowing, frantic and turbulent discussion on a play they’d mentioned to Winter Troupe a few nights ago, and the day went on with the others in the room continuing their morning prep or chatting in with the two main characters. Homare listened and laughed in a few times, but he had begun reminiscing on lines that he himself enjoyed, whether he had read or said. Like a score of music spanning his sight, each note held a phrase that inspired him, and the whole piece immensely pleased him.</p><p>Goodness -- if Homare didn't get his hands on pen and paper or fingers on tablet or a scribe to transcribe A.S.A.P., he would bounce off the walls like his own thoughts inside. What luck that every day here was so entertaining and fueled something dry, thirsty, craving to create. Speaking of liquids -- he'd almost forgotten to get Hisoka and his drinks.</p><p>Hot chocolate with a, frankly, sickly amount of marshmallows and some green tea later, he toed open their door. No more snores were heard, but the stillness in the room felt like the blanket he’d recently left the comfort of after the rowdiness of Mankai. Both pleasant in different ways. Homare breathed in and relished the warmth in both of his hands, and then took small steps to the wooden table in the middle of the room. Placing his companion’s drink down and pushing in the white round chair, he blew and sipped on his momentary lifeline until there were sheets shifting a few feet away.</p><p>“Your drink will get cold if you don't come get it soon. I’ll be leaving as soon as I finish this. You’re off today, right?”</p><p>A low affirmative was muffled by the fluffy, white comforter.</p><p>“I don’t know when I’ll be home, but I’m going to do some cleaning in the evening. Try not to be in here for too long, the dust isn’t good to breathe in.”</p><p>There was no acknowledgement this time, and Homare huffed in exaggeration.</p><p>“Geez, at least listen to me when I’m telling you something important!”</p><p>Homare gathered his briefcase, wallet, and house keys, the latter redundant with how many people would be home today, and grabbed his softest, luckiest pair of black socks to change into in the foyer. Here's to hoping that his own one-liners he made soon would be musical. When he was halfway out the door, he was spoken to once more.</p><p>“Stay safe out there…”</p><p>“Thank you, Hisoka-kun. I’ll be back later.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>[ Winter Troupe Group Chat ❄ ]</p><p> </p><p>Tsumugi: Tasu, </p><p> </p><p>Tsumugi: can youe meet up at  4?  Small store near you. Thanks</p><p> </p><p>Tasuku: tell tenma to call me please. i’m with the others</p><p> </p><p>Tasuku: you two are holding us up. you NEED to stop letting him guide the way. Please.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>(Today at 1:03PM)</p><p> </p><p>Azuma: Good afternoon. How did the meeting go, Homare?</p><p> </p><p>Tasuku: do you need a ride home?</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Homare exhaled through his nose and stood up straighter when someone bumped into his shoulder. That would have been a nice offer about ten minutes ago before he’d boarded the train, but c’est la vie. Ignoring the urge to scrub his arm red - like a stop sign, or the heated train tracks the gray train sped over - his grip tightened on the ceiling hand strap that he hadn't sanitized well enough.</p><p>Just a few hours ago, he had left the dorms and walked to the train station. It was a thirty minute ride and fifteen minute walk from the station to his publisher’s building, and he was thirty minutes early to the meeting itself. With all that time to spare, he’d drunk in the familiar sights of the city repainted and rebranded new, resplendent colors, and Homare felt like he was experiencing it for the first time again after moving from the countryside. It appeared like reds were bleeding into the world anew; it was all luck and love for the day - outfits fit for Cupid himself, window advertisements of OPEN and goodies galore, and scarlet flowers on the sidewalk partitions that preened. Homare whistled the whole way there.</p><p>The desk lady with acrylic nails that got longer each time he saw her smiled and had chimed Mrs. Kobayashi, so their early meeting was brought back even earlier and Homare couldn't contain his excitement. He'd strode to her office, and her smile mirrored his when she caught sight of him (in all of his Maroon glory!), and then they were kissing each other's cheeks in greeting and getting right to it.</p><p>She was just as tall as him with a mahogany brown pixie cut that shifted left and right with each movement, and she was animated in giving him the rundown of last month's sales and what they were looking for this time. From the flourish she spoke with to her grandiose emphatic movements, he saw himself in her. Like a cotton swab, she bled about what she cared about and he soaked it up. Tax refunds and percentages of publishing cuts had never been so interesting, and his heart warmed when the conversation moved onto catching up on how the other was doing. She was his first confidant and someone he could share his art with without limits, and he only felt happiness when she leaned in conspiratorial-like, a schoolgirl sharing something important with a friend. </p><p>"Homare-san," she'd said, "I think you're really going to like this next prompt."</p><p>"Kobayashi-san," he'd said, "you're always right."</p><p>"Do you remember when we went out for drinks a few months ago-- and you told me that you believed in miracles? This is one. I know you like to have some leeway and I got it for you once again because I am the greatest and you love me--"</p><p>"You are the <em> best </em>and I think you are one of the most magnificent creatures in existence! Please do tell already!"</p><p>"Passion. It's <em> passion </em>!"</p><p>In his mind, a curtain, velvet as it ought to be, over a stage was in a blank space, and Homare sat front and center row. It slowly lifted, and something vivid, bursting, loud, and demanding took place.</p><p>But it was much too abstract to figure out just yet.</p><p>But it brought overstimulated tingles to his fingertips.</p><p>But it would be so exciting to see and feel and make passion.</p><p>Sucked back into time and space, Miss Kobayashi looked like his late grandfather on Christmas giving presents to Grandmother and him - joyous, anticipatory - and Homare gathered all his wits and sensitive revelry to discuss further with her. Two hours later, he stumbled out of her office with some paperwork, a calendar date circled for their next outing together, and a question on his mind.</p><p>What is passion? Is it tangible? What did it do to a person? Did everyone have it? Could anyone have it? What was it like? What could it be like?</p><p>Well, he had more than one question, but he had a few places to start. He found himself pulled to the present train ride, too warm and noisy with grating chatter and machinery squeaks, with another bump to the shoulder. His <em> actual </em> starting point was that he was passionate about not forgetting his earbuds and maybe getting on less crowded compartments even if it meant getting home later next time.</p><p>Unable to recite the Ethics Sutra from memory, he thought about important words and their relations to his upcoming topic, daydreaming of the future anthology. Today, he'd like it if the cover were red. Passion, passionate, impassioned, impartial, and passive. He'd said them so many times it sounded odd or like something that he'd made up. Oh, if only that were the truth. A final rub, electric in all the wrong ways, against his suit had him scrunch in further and tune into the group chat again.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>[ Winter Troupe Group Chat ❄ ]</p><p> </p><p>Tasuku: will you two bring back some crackers? taichi had a stomach ache earlier and i dont think anyone is doing any shopping today</p><p> </p><p>Azuma: This is Guy. Yukishiro is talk to an old ackquaintans. Yes. We will got crakers.</p><p> </p><p>Tasuku: where are you guys now?</p><p> </p><p>Azuma: Azuma again. Guy accompanied me to visit a buddy of mine, and now we’re all window shopping.</p><p> </p><p>Azuma: Are Tsumugi and you at the theater yet?</p><p> </p><p>Tasuku: almost. Making tsumugi drive so we can practice the script a bit more</p><p> </p><p>Tasuku: he says “hi.”</p><p> </p><p>Azuma: Haha. Hi!</p><p> </p><p>Homare: Hello! Bonjour! Buenos dias! Guten-Tag! Ciao! Shalom!</p><p> </p><p>Homare: Thank you for the offer, but I am already returning and will be back shortly.</p><p> </p><p>Homare: The meeting was FANTASTIC!</p><p> </p><p>Homare: I have gotten word of my work’s next theme. It is so exciting! [thought bubble emoji or line sticker]</p><p> </p><p>Homare: Passion! PASSION! PA SSI ON~</p><p> </p><p>Homare: Passion, fire and heat and hot, like this train… humid... </p><p> </p><p>Homare: A bit gross, honestly.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Tasuku: stop spamming, im trying to catch up!</p><p> </p><p>Homare: Oops!</p><p> </p><p>Azuma: Fufu. Sounds like you’re pleased. I’m not home just yet, but tell Guy and I about it later.</p><p> </p><p>Azuma: I think Hisoka is up and about today too, but he’s probably still in the dorms. I’m sure he could help you with your prompt. :)</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Hisoka and passion? Homare truly adored his roommate and friends at Mankai, but none of them really had his artistic sense or style for all of their prowess in the art of acting. He didn’t doubt that they’d be of help because he’d been plenty inspired by them a multitude of times, but he didn’t know how Hisoka would directly be able to assist him. At a callous glance, a reality of Homare’s past, Hisoka would actually be the <em> last </em>person he’d go to for this because passion seemed so fast-paced, explosive and demanding. He was the opposite-- scratch that, he was a bit bossy, but like a pet you’d fed already and was just begging because you left food out on the counter. Regardless, Azuma had untapped wisdom for his eccentricities and… youth. It would be wise to heed his words.</p><p> </p><p>Homare: I will brief you all! I’d love to take notes on any thoughts you may have, or perhaps a tale that may spark my creative juices!</p><p> </p><p>Azuma: I’m sure I’d be able to help. :)</p><p> </p><p>After that text, Homare felt a bit warmer and thought passion was just a moment away!</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It’d been one full day, and Homare was exhausted. He’d written seventeen poems that were as good as a child playing their first sheet of music, a colorblind person’s painting, the sea turtle’s tumultuous challenge to reach the ocean and the hurdles it had to surpass to survive. Tasuku had said it wasn’t that drastic, but it certainly felt like it.</p><p>This unnamed, red anthology book had the potential to be his greatest work yet (as the one before it, and that one's predecessor, and so on and so forth). Yet-- he was stumped. Bluh. He had things to do before reaching this round's artist ascension; lucky that cleaning his room was planned beforehand as the workspace mirrors one's mental state. Homare was all for having a clean slate!</p><p>As foretold, most of his troupe members were out and about save for Hisoka who was napping in the lounge with Matsukawa. The moment he'd returned home, Manager let out a grumbling snore, much lower than his usual shrillness, and Hisoka opened his eyes. Already feeling the grumpiness radiating from him, Homare couldn't hold back an entertained laugh and waved at his roommate slung on the couch like he'd been dropped onto it. Melting up into a slink, Hisoka (<em> impressively! </em>) slowly rose and made his way to him.</p><p>A tug on Homare's suit and then they were respectfully passing the drooling Matsukawa and peacefully entering their room. Quick to notice the vacuum and duster sitting on their table, his stomach flipped in delight (with a quiet growl as an afterthought).</p><p>"I already put my sheets to wash but didn't touch yours."</p><p>While Homare was out pursuing his dreams and Making That Bread (a term coined by Tsuzuru), Hisoka had heeded his words and started without him. Most definitely due to the dust displaced, his eyes watered a bit. He cleared his throat and said "Amazing, Hisoka-kun! It appears you've been busy after I left!"</p><p>Hisoka flopped on their white, armless chair like a white cat curling into a ball and uttered "I just don't wanna hear you complaining that you did all the work."</p><p>Sighing, Homare shrugged. "You and I both know that I still will be, though. Tsk, tsk-- you didn't even clear off your desk!" He pointed at a pen (<em> dead </em> because Hisoka never had working ones on him and always borrowed his) and a lone piece of random plastic that yearned for the trashcan.</p><p>Without moving, Hisoka glanced at both of their desks in comparison, then stared blankly back. Homare took a look with him.</p><p>His books were piled, <em> yes </em> , and they may have been piled <em> high </em> and a bit asymmetrically, but that's how those ones ought to be! There's a place for everything. Alphabetically was for the books he didn't touch often and on his desk for easy picking was the other.</p><p>"Mine is organized!" </p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>"I know where everything is at all times, and I'll still be dusting them off!"</p><p>"Whatever you say, Arisu."</p><p>And with that, Homare began. He wouldn't discount Hisoka's later efforts as he did lift up the rug's end with one clothed foot during vacuuming, and he did snootily point out spots he'd missed ("I haven't gotten there yet!!"). Not one snooze was had despite Hisoka trying, so Homare had to hear the halfhearted complaints that he was being noisy.</p><p>It was fun. </p><p>The rhythm of their banter and the familiarity of the territory made his movements sure and speedy. They were busy for half a candle, and the proof was their room eventually smelling sweet and sparkling, and Homare felt the light sweat he'd built up was worth it. In the midst of acquiescing to shelve a book or two (simply for more writing space), he was pleased to be asked about his conference. He'd have gushed regardless, but he recalled what Azuma said about potential inspiration from Hisoka. It was much more beneficial to them both to chat about this opposed to a Hisoka drifting off. He summarized and lamented that he could have been working instead of cleaning, but Hisoka interjected.</p><p>"Clean sheets are fluffy and soft, though. At least you can rest well and work on it <em> bright and early </em> tomorrow,” he sulkily stressed the last part.</p><p>"Oh! You're actually right. I could have some refreshing tea while I toil! Perhaps I could wake up even earlier and see off Tasuku! Maybe I’ll <em> join </em> him-!"</p><p>"Passion sounds tiring…"</p><p>"I suppose it could be! </p><p>"It's not so bad to be passionate, though."</p><p>When Homare was inspired -- passion overflowed like a cup overfilling, a shallow river without dams, abundant, refreshing, flooding. Yet, he knew the feeling of an artist burning out firsthand. There was no balm to fix it, no cure all in a timely manner, but love for art persevered even if the energy put into it molded him anew. Homare changed with his art all the time and that <em> wasn't </em>so bad!</p><p>Passion could be exhausting, but Homare thought that that would be more along the lines of passionless.</p><p>How sad.</p><p>Even if that wasn’t what Hisoka was getting at in this context, he had said something that really resonated with Homare. In the end, he simply hummed in response. The sentiment settled into companionable silence between them, complete agreeance. Butterflies flew from his rib cage to his shoulders and stomach, fleeting like the wonder of why and were they stemmed from.</p><p>It felt like a new chapter for him when it was so much more -- the entire story unwritten, ink waiting to be dripped.</p><p>His stomach grumbled once again, and Hisoka was the first one to move.</p><p>"C'mon, I'm hungry after all that work."</p><p>The evening ended with a big dinner, lively as usual, and most of the members relaxed and caught up with each other. Winter had all congregated like usual, but Tasuku and Tsumugi, in a rare circumstance, looked ragged after their acting session, and Guy's steely eyes kept drifting. Compassionately, Homare sent them off to bed, so Azuma promised them some drinks sooner than later. With another delightful thing to look forward to, Homare bid his own goodnights and Hisoka joyfully led the way back to the bedroom.</p><p>The comment about the comforters being <em> fuwafuwa </em> fluffy was on the nose. They were so terribly compelling that he laid there, long after his roommate's breathing had evened out, stretched minutes to molasses hours in the dark. Eventually he closed his eyes and then the sun was rising, his body unrested and bags itchy when he forced himself to get up. Said following accursed day started, went, and finished with not an inkling of contentment. At least his bedsheets were soft.</p><p>It was a blur that had the duality of being too slow and much too fast. He was supposed to be a caterpillar in its cocoon, he was metamorphosing-- encased in his maroon shell and becoming mush on the inside. Soon, he’d bring something beautiful to the world!</p><p>The idea was nearly poetic in a silly way, but Homare was disappointed to acknowledge that him lazing had nothing to do with the passion he seeked.</p><p>Times like these usually indicated things may be more inclined to go, well, <em> wrong </em> if he were being pessimistic. In his miffed mood, he didn’t see off some of Mankai’s members that he wished to interrogate. The infinite night before - the thought formed that he was in a prime place to get other’s takes of passion. Just thinking back on being in the audience, watching his friends shine and put their all into their craft made every fiber of his being light up, much like when he’d walked into Mankai’s theater for the first time. Looking for something new to conquer. It had changed his life and was still shaping him. The electrical current of a complete circuit shocks, is shocking, shocked...</p><p>A perfect opportunity was right in front of him, but for all of his excitement, the morning became afternoon and then dinner was fast approaching. Homare had only enjoyed two of his multitude of poems. Firstly the caterpillar one and the other about soft things that once again had nothing to do with his topic. Temporary success was not what he desired and so the joy of creating them was diminished. However, he still saved them to recite to others who may get some cheer from his excellence, but his notebook for finalized poems lay empty.</p><p>When everyone was once again gathering in the communal areas after another long day, his group chat began going off.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>[ Winter Troupe Group Chat ❄ ]</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Azuma: Good evening. It's unfortunate that I'll have to rain check with you all again, but I have an old friend who's in the area.</p><p> </p><p>Azuma: I promise that we'll have fun together soon. ;)</p><p> </p><p>Guy: ok</p><p> </p><p>Azuma: &lt;3</p><p> </p><p>Tasuku: guy and tsumugi are with me and i dont think we'll be making it home til late, so it all works out.</p><p> </p><p>Tasuku: stay safe out there. tsumugi says it's his treat next</p><p> </p><p>Tsumugi: 🤨</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>As the dismaying news came in, Hisoka walked into the dining room wearing his work uniform.</p><p>"Woah! Looking snazzy, Hiso-Hiso!"</p><p>"I like the design on it! It's got-"</p><p>"Lemme guess."</p><p>"Tsuzuroon! Let him finish!"</p><p>The room was full of joyous activity, yet Homare felt a bit out of place.</p><p>Nothing artful about being put under this spotlight, on the spot. Ostracized by himself. The liveliness of his surroundings became a buzz too loud, a roar that had the lights too bright and he stood close to the wall, circulating the same breath.</p><p>When he blinked (or had he closed his eyes?), Hisoka was standing in front of him - noticeably with some distance. A kind distance, a spotlight and shield to the noise and feelings.</p><p>"You okay?" Homare couldn't read his tone if he tried.</p><p>"Just a bit tired. You… how long do you work tonight?"</p><p>"I'll be gone until the morning."</p><p>The conversation dropped and the buzzing came back not with a vengeance, but with a tinge of itchiness. Hisoka was still looking at him and it made Homare fidget.</p><p>"Go rest."</p><p>"Huh?"</p><p>"Go to sleep. There's no reason to torture yourself. Plus, you're not going to get anything done like this." </p><p>The itching worsened and Homare was even more dismayed to feel irritation rising within him.</p><p>"That's ridiculous. I don't need to constantly rest just to do one thing."</p><p>Once the words left his lips, he was distinctly pulled back in time.</p><p>Cold kitchen with blue undertones. Traffic noise outside, quiet honks and fast heartbeats. Whisper turned yell. Her heels hastily put on, hastily clicking against wood for the last time.</p><p>The despairing realization that he was in a role reversal but still managed to hurt another - <em> the other </em>- rose as he sank.</p><p>Hisoka didn’t flinch, but his eyes went steely and his already still form stiffened. Homare couldn’t look at him any longer and didn’t feel up to dig his hole further. He pushed off the wall and mumbled “...have a good night.”</p><p>One of them had to and it didn’t deserve to be him.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Heeding a teammate’s wisdom again, Homare did actually mope back to their room with no small amount of guilt weighing him down. For the second night in the row, he fitfully rested by falling asleep heavily and waking up suddenly, over and over. A sour taste never left his throat despite brushing his teeth, and he kept shifting away from the shared headboard as if he were in the splash zone. His sheets felt scratchy, and he sweat unpleasantly until daylight.</p><p>Like a nightmare, the door creaked open and Homare blearily looked to see a familiar figure. It paused at the door; it should have been close enough to see in full detail, but he couldn’t make out the face. The hair was discolored, rounded, similar to someone’s he knew but couldn’t put a finger on in the moment. When it started to slowly make its way towards him, it tip toed - like it didn’t want its presence to be detected. ‘Twas almost like it didn’t dare even bother.</p><p>Making it to his bunk and succeeding at avoiding the creaking stair, it loomed above him silent and observant.</p><p>Not a trace of anger was radiating from it. Not like Homare had ever been truly ept in reading the room or other’s emotions, but it did a lot to sooth his nerves. Despite the proximity, his eyes grew heavier and heavier. He forced himself to reach out, but his exhaustion didn’t give him the right to pick his hand up very far.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whispered with everything he had left.</p><p>He felt his bangs get sweetly swept to the side and promptly fell asleep.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>This evening’s dinner was a loud affair “per the ushe.” The chair beside Izumi was free when he’d arrived, so he sat after offering to help Omi prep the table but was waved off with the professional air of a top chef-- or perhaps a maternal figure. She determinedly scribbled in a small journal, tastefully well used and full of multicolored sticky notes and phrases written by different pens and markers. Whatever she was writing, Izumi was going to town and the haste she worked with forced a pang of guilt to sting Homare. It had been nearly two weeks since the fateful day he was given the opportunity for his next anthology. He’d had about seven poems so far, but that didn’t put bread on the table. That was the opposite of making that bread!</p><p>He sighed with flourish until Izumi hastily finished up and deemed him worthy of attention.</p><p>“What’s up?” she asked as she cleared her spot at the same time Omi placed her plate in front of her.</p><p>“I’ve yet to figure out what passion is!” he cried, catching the attention of a few around him.</p><p>“You? Stumped? How rare!” she said through a mouthful of steamed vegetables. A squash if his guess were correct.</p><p>Most were ladling their bowls with tonight’s dish, aromatic stew that filled body and soul while some were already piling it into their mouths with little grace. It made Homare cringe a bit, but he did understand where they were coming from when it came to Omi’s cooking. Sakyo was seated beside him and they shared a look when Taichi choked from inhaling everything too fast. His neighbor Azami beat him on the back and then elbowed him in the stomach as a friendly warning.</p><p>“Do you have a deadline?” asked Sakyo.</p><p>“Not really. It has to be done by the end of the year which <em> it will be </em>-- I just have to figure out the schematics of it. Having one or two, or seven as in my case, poems wouldn’t be enough to fill out even the smallest of pamphlets!” he popped a potato after lamenting.</p><p>“That’s a start at least. When I write, I just do it all at once so I don’t leave anything out. Revisions can happen at any time, but if I don’t have anything, nothing can be fixed,” sagely nodded Tsuzuru.</p><p>“Sure is wise for someone who almost dies every time he writes.”</p><p>“Ripping off a bandaid isn’t supposed to be <em> pleasant </em>, Masumi.”</p><p>Tenma was walking by and tapped Homare on the shoulder to offer the carrots in his stew. Flashing him an award winning smile, he plucked them out with gusto and then Tenma was just as happily on his way to eat. </p><p> “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Up until recently you’d been spouting off poems to no end,” tried Banri.</p><p>“Yeah! It’s been too quiet so I hope you can get your spark back,” added Kazunari.</p><p>“It’s only a matter of time, but I have one teeny tiny, miniscule problem!”</p><p>“What is it?” slurred Matsukawa who a few flinched in disgust.</p><p>They all had at least one artistic eye in common, and Homare hadn’t met a group of so many impassioned people that weren’t snobs in <em> years </em>. They were growing up and living their own lives, and no matter how individualistic their personality or schedule may have been. At the end of the day - all of them were intertwined. Every man ate and slept under the same roof. Everybody dreamed the same dream.</p><p>This <em> had </em> to be his starting place.</p><p>“<em> Just! </em> <b> <em>What!</em> </b> <em> Is! Passion! </em>”</p><p>“<em> No yelling at the table! </em>”</p><p>There was laughter all around at Sakyo and his’ outburst, but there was a second of thoughtful silence that followed.</p><p>“That’s, like, almost too vague of a prompt. You’re surrounded by a bunch of oddballs so won’t the responses be all over the place?” Yuki stirred and pushed his food around in an agitated manner.</p><p>“You are absolutely correct, but I’d truly love to hear <em> any </em> and <em> every </em> thought you all have!”</p><p>“Passion becomes where you live! I am passionate about experiencing new things, and here is where I can do that the most. It may not have been the most realistic dream, but I cared a lot about it! Now it is livelihood, right?”</p><p>"I guess that’s pretty literal for you, Citron-kun!"</p><p>“Mhm. I’m sure Arisugawa knows this, but passion is like… a driving force? We’re all actors who stuck with a dying troupe, so I’m sure we all are at least a little familiar with the feeling. I think it’s hard to follow a passion in this day and age, but it shows just how passionate you are about something if you go for it," Tsuzuru supplied.</p><p>“Spoken like a true nerd.”</p><p>“Thanks, Yuki.”</p><p>“But you’re right. If your whole heart isn’t in it, then are you actually passionate about something?” Yuki raised with a quirked eyebrow.</p><p>“Stopping at nothing to achieve that goal? Is that passion?” pondered Homare.</p><p>“I think it’s a good definition of it! Like, there’s a lot of us that work towards our goals despite what others think, or our own limitations…” Muku started strong but mumbled once everyone’s eyes turned towards him.</p><p>“So passion is something you’d kill for?” Chikage said more than asked.</p><p>“That’s too scary coming from you, senpai. Would you murder for ultra super rare heat curry?”</p><p>“That's redundant of you to ask, Chigasaki.”</p><p>"There's also bad takes to the topic. I don’t think you should hurt anyone else for your goals if you can help it,” uttered Taichi.</p><p>“You’re right, too,” again agreed Yuki.</p><p>Tenma turned to him from a few chairs down and stared down Homare.</p><p>"I’ve seen people do much worse than kill in the acting industry to make a name for themselves. It consumes you and becomes all you can think about. Passion should be a good thing, but it can turn into something else if you can’t control yourself. Does that help?”</p><p>Homare was taken aback by the tone Tenma had set, but he mulled it over.</p><p>“It does. Thank you, Tenma-kun.”</p><p>He shrugged, but red colored his cheeks until he got pulled into half squishy hug and half a headlock by Misumi and Kazunari.</p><p>Omi had seated himself without Homare noticing and piped up “What if you found your passion later in life? What does that say about you?”</p><p>“Just means we’re built different. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t motivate me to, like, do better though. Not just in <em> acting, </em> because you’re all avoiding that word, but like. In everything I do. So I can come back to being a stronger individual.”</p><p>“Ban-chan, that was so mature…!”</p><p>“Even if you suck at whatever you're passionate about, you have to stick it out or what was even the point.”</p><p>“Nii-chan…!”</p><p>Juza and Banri had the unfortunate luck (for them, but for Homare it was a bit comical) to be seated together, so Banri bumped Juza and complained he wasn’t done talking. More laughter and some adults chastising them for fighting at the table changed the route of the conversation, but something had bloomed in his chest, a fresh flower ready to open.</p><p>They really inspired him. </p><p>Everyone’s minds changed direction and small talk sprouted in its wake. He happily partook and feasted in the festivity until Izumi faced him after polishing her first bowl.</p><p>“I really liked hearing that come from you boys. I’m assuming you’ve already talked to Hisoka-kun about it?”</p><p>“Hisoka-kun? No, I’m afraid I haven’t really had the chance to bring it up.”</p><p>“Oh. ...Is everything alright with you two?”</p><p>“Hm? Yes, everything is fine! Why do you ask?”</p><p>Her brow furrowed and her mouth twisted, but Homare couldn’t understand just what she was confused about. Like an illness, it contaminated him.</p><p>“Why would you think something is wrong?”</p><p>“No reason… I just thought you guys shared, um, everything with each other? Kind of heard your spat a few days ago so-”</p><p>“Spat?!”</p><p>“You know what! Nevermind! I think I may have gotten something wrong somewhere along the line!”</p><p>Maybe Homare did, too. Still in high spirits albeit extremely lost at his last talk, he finished his own soup in a proper manner and adamantly did not notice the looks he got the rest of the evening.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He’d retired to his room at the same time as Hisoka got home, soul sucked from a day shift. Holding the door open for him to go first, he got a grunt in response and was happy to have been graced that.</p><p>“Long day?”</p><p>With a sigh, Hisoka began undressing with grim finality, but Homare was too busy to find it funny and instead flustered at the lack of propriety.</p><p>“Y-you can’t be that tired! At least let me turn around first,” he squeaked as he bore holes into the wall.</p><p>“Sleepy.”</p><p>“You usually are!”</p><p>Izumi’s <em> Is something wrong? </em> came back full force to the front of his mind and he yelled to himself <em> Absolutely not! If anything, he’s gotten too comfortable around me?! </em></p><p>It was a gratifying but awkward situation. Whatever small argument they had in the past (and they had many) was long washed away, and they’d resumed their symbiotic relationship like always. He was Hisoka’s marshmallow dealer -- the percussionist during a quiet orchestra to prevent the audience from snoozing. Homare in turn received entertainment and satisfaction being personable when attending to him. A win-win situation, and it helped that there was a healthy amount of trust and space between them.</p><p>Too great trust, too little space, perhaps.</p><p>“I’m done.”</p><p>Turning back around, he begged “Please do warn me next time, or at least make it to the restroom for decency’s sake!”</p><p>Hisoka had the audacity to smirk at him, and Homare felt all the more shaken. It reached a peak when his friend basically dropped to the floor.</p><p>“Hisoka?!”</p><p>“I don’t wanna move until the morning.”</p><p>“The floor is dirty. Would you like me to pick you up and put you in bed? I could tuck you in and read a story for you to wind down-”</p><p>“Pass.”</p><p>Homare wheezed out a laugh, and Hisoka incrementally turned his head to watch him.</p><p>“...get anything done today?”</p><p>“I did! I was given input from almost everyone. Actually, I was going to write right now since I feel so inspired!”</p><p>“You’re not writing as we speak…?” Hisoka’s eyebrows disappeared behind his hairline, a feat from the lazy man and near insult.</p><p>“I am not so rude as to just abandon you when you come home like this!”</p><p>Except he was. If he considered it, he’d usually pull out his miniature notepad any time of the day be it mid-convo to walking down the road if inspiration hit him. Better to have something than nothing as Tsuzuru said. However, he didn’t have a sense of urgency despite the looming guilt of being inactive. Two weeks was a long time-- longer than he’d gone without writing double his current word count in awhile. In the past, he would have absolutely cut off Hisoka and dived towards his desk in an effort to jot every thought down immediately. Now, he found that he wasn’t in too much of a rush.</p><p>“Anyways, I wanted to catch up with you,” he smiled.</p><p>Homare didn’t think he said anything wrong, but Hisoka’s eyes widened and something akin to a frown tugged at his mouth. It wouldn’t have been noticeable to most, but he was staring directly at him. The persisting flower in his chest from dinner trembled.</p><p>He sat in one of their lounge chairs next to where Hisoka was starfish sprawled on the rug. Dropping heavily into it, he let out his own breath. Nothing <em> was </em> wrong, right? </p><p>"Now, I have so many wonderful ideas but I think I'm still stuck at this mental block, unfortunately. Maybe I will stop writing and travel for a year. Gap year of life? I can refine my other skills and become an official tea tester, or-- Ah! I've got it! A world-class opera singer? My poetry would have such a refined taste. Uncomparable, a class of its own! Where should we travel first, Hisoka?"</p><p>"..."</p><p>Nothing could be wrong with this kind of elation strumming through him. The world was opening up along with the ground but he was happy to be swallowed into this makeshift imagination. A yearning he hadn't felt in <em> ages </em> pinned itself as the first location in his brain.</p><p>"France, definitely France. After all, my heart is in Paris, ahahaha!"</p><p>"Arisu."</p><p>Hearing his name from the other man pulled him to an empty headspace, someplace above the vast oceans and below the luminous stars.</p><p>Hisoka's voice was not rich, fertile soil. Homare didn't exactly feel like a sapling in the ground, cradled and surrounded by dark warmth and encouraging depth. Instead, it was buoyant, fluffy, light and airy. A cool breeze just when he needed it, chilling with its altitude and all-encompassing with Hisoka's magnitude. As big as the moon. Like the perfect cloud, white and clean and refreshing, the first bed you choose when you leave the nest and furnish the home you make for yourself. </p><p>"...Arisu?"</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"How many?"</p><p>"How many what?"</p><p>He sounded irritated, but there was no sharp edge to his next question. "How many poems will you need for the book?"</p><p>As if a balloon carrying him through the stratosphere became a cartoon anvil, he was pulled back to Earth.</p><p>"Oh my god...how many poems will I need for the book…!"</p><p>"Calm down."</p><p>"This is just another issue that's gonna prevent me from working! I'm never gonna-"</p><p>"Six."</p><p>"Come again?"</p><p>"Six. For the amount of people in Winter Troupe."</p><p>"That's…"</p><p><em> Extremely endearing. </em> That would not be enough for one page let alone a book, yet that sentiment was enough to choke up Homare. A watery noise cleared in his throat was as embarrassing as it was incriminating.</p><p>"That's a <em> lovely </em> idea, but I'm going to need a bit more."</p><p>"24. For all of the troupe's actors. 27 to include Izumi, Matsukawa, and Kamekichi."</p><p>"I really, really, really like where you're coming from, but that still won't fill more than two or three pages."</p><p>A man on the edge of his seat and a man at the end of his patience, both at their wit's end thought together. Homare sincerely believed that if they didn't solve this problem now, he'd never again pick up a pen.</p><p>A knock at the door startled Homare, but Tsumugi's voice flitting through eased his surprise. He could imagine the man, cautious and considerately standing outside, gently rapping his knuckles on the wood. The… <em> gold embroidered room number was a stark contrast against Tsumugi's dark blues. </em></p><p>Hisoka looked up directly at Homare the same time he looked down from his perch.</p><p>"Sorry to bother! Your lights are on but, uh, just wanted to say goodnight! And I'll see you both at morning practice!"</p><p>The sound insulation of the place was passing, so they didn't hear him walk away. Then again, neither were listening very hard.</p><p>"205," Homare said, "there will be 205 poems."</p><p>"...do what you want," Hisoka said. His cheeks, usually concerningly pale, were changing into a lovely shade of pearl pink. From his starfish pose, he curled up like a snail and turned his back to Homare. His hair fell with gravity and the tip of an ear was visible; also pink.</p><p>Homare blacked out while jumping up to grab his pen and paper, writing down his eighth poem about the moon's gravitation, waves of the ocean crashing, a surge and wait of motivation unleashed like a rubber band's tension, the color rosé before red of deep feelings.</p><p> </p><p>One more down! Just 197 to go!</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The morning after marked the most successful day since "Project Passion" (a name he coined just last night) had been assigned to him. He'd woken up with the sun and cheered Hisoka along to their early acting session. Finally, they'd be getting some team time even if it was technically on the clock. To be a bit mushy, Homare was quite excited; it would be a pleasant Friday start and week's wrap up.</p><p>From the moment they walked in, everyone gathered and greeted one another while Izumi sifted through her planner. Tasuku gave run downs about where Tsumugi and him had volunteered recently. From across the city, gigantic and minuscule theaters, and the quirky and wise actors -- they'd been seeing it all and dragging Guy with them when he was available.  Azuma and Homare listened aptly to Tsumugi telling about a particularly zealous actor with excellent vocals on large stages when Izumi politely clapped to get their attention. She put her hand gently on Hisoka to wake him up before she spoke.</p><p>"Good morning! It's been awhile since we've all been together, huh?"</p><p>"Everyone's still been working hard, and now that our last mixed play is over, the break was well needed for the school kids," beamed Tsumugi.</p><p>"Now you have something else to focus on. When are you guys leaving for Banri's movie shoot?" Tasuku asked.</p><p>"Monday!"</p><p>"Citronia has been playing 'cowboy' so much, it's a bit harrowing. I have a whole new vocabulary now."</p><p>"Ahaha, it's a bit charming, don't you think? Will we be acting out some old west things today as well?" Azuma openly appreciated Tasuku and Guy's stretching. </p><p>"If you'd like! I'd love to get into that mindset early. A movie is much different than stage acting as we learned, and this crew is the best at subtlety opposed to a stage's exaggeration. Mind indulging me?"</p><p>"Yeah. 's fun to be acting again."</p><p>"Oh, good morning Hisoka-kun! I'm glad to hear!"</p><p>When Winter Troupe acted, the air around them shifted into something special. The temperature remained the same but Homare's blood began to boil, and after all his time with them - he was certain they felt the same. They all became adrenaline and sharp eyes, skill and attuned to one another. He'd never felt lifted up like this in any other craft he'd tried out. It was riveting. It was obsessive. It was <em> fun </em>.</p><p>Their warm ups were executed with ease, and soon they were picking at scenes they'd done in the past. Their final hour would consist of etudes around the old west theme, but Guy still needed a bit longer to get in the groove and they were all happy to aid.</p><p>Ever since getting a sixth person, Homare genuinely liked that they could pair up a bit easier now. One on one scenes were difficult at the beginning for him since he'd join acting with the notion that a spotlight couldn't be shared and rising to the top was all there was to aim for. So, many plays in, many plays watched -- he still enjoyed improvising by himself but only if he could match another's wavelength.</p><p>It was proof of how far he'd come.</p><p>After a few pair ups (the comedic horse skit of Tasuku and himself was <em> fantastic </em>), they got to do a second run of a one on one and Izumi paired up Hisoka and him. They were given a few minutes to come up with a little more than the theme, and Homare had worked up a sweat. Gulping down some electrolyte drink, he was slow to notice Hisoka's eyes staying glued on him for longer than usual.</p><p>"Are you alright? Would you like some, Hisoka-kun?"</p><p>He blinked himself out of a reverie and shook his head minutely. His eyes strayed from him for a brief moment before returning. Muddled.</p><p>"Last time we acted together was when I was Liam."</p><p>"That's right! You pulled off a <em> beautiful </em> scene. Goodbye ring, ting, ding-a-ling SING-"</p><p>"Way too early for that."</p><p>"It's almost noon?"</p><p>"Anyways, what do you think about a little town cowboy sheriff and corrupt foreigner?"</p><p>"I thought you'd never asked, Hisoka-kun."</p><p>The best tip he'd learned was building your character. Obviously, they didn't have much time to flesh out a whole life for their five minute script, but it helped him act in the sense that the backgrounds gave reason for a character's actions. It gave the why, the how, the meat and cheese and lettuce!</p><p>A suede suit gifted to him by his late wife, a rich woman, who 'mysteriously' passed away last year. His supposed heartbreak had him westbound, looking for something else beautiful to fill his time. A little town in a drought. </p><p>Of course, this could change with just the smallest of dialogue Hisoka composed in his own head, but Homare felt at peace as they took their places. He could be flexible.</p><p>He would be whoever Hisoka needed him to be.</p><p>A clap turned the lights on and off and when he next opened his eyes, a short, armed man in dark cowhide and himself stood in a desert valley. Saloon to the left and bank to the right. His character stood straight, but the aura he projected hunched in - someone proud who should not be approached. Intimidating and in a rush, while the other man lingered and eyed him up with no restraint.</p><p>He walked at a brisk pace and tried to avoid Hisoka, but the other deliberately shifted closer so their shoulders roughly bumped (or so it appeared. Hisoka never exuded any strength against anyone but Chikage). Homare bumbled and Hisoka caught his shoulder, forcing them to face off.</p><p>"Oh, my bad! Forgive me, good sir--"</p><p>"No, no. It was my fault, didn't see ya there. Where's you off to in such a rush, now?"</p><p>"We can agree to disagree. I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a time crunch, you see, I must meet someone at the bank."</p><p>"There ain't nothin' much there, and I reckon by the looks of these here parts you know that."</p><p>The tone changed and they both went tense. There were no awkward pauses, smooth and perfectly integrated unless his character's hesitation to deal with his interrogator counted.</p><p>"Ah, you're a bit nosy, aren't you. All I'm trying to do is assist in the welfare of <em> your </em> town, Sheriff."</p><p>"Glad I ain't have to introduce myself. I don't give a shit about your time or your money, but I do care 'nuff to warn you, <em> pal </em>. There's nothin' here for you."</p><p>At the threat, Hisoka pulled him closer. They were almost nose to nose, holding their breaths after spitting acid. Despite the difference in height, Hisoka seemed just as imposing in character.</p><p>Homare thought of the fake dead wife and this man's search for beauty. He glanced at Hisoka's lips and then back at his eyes.</p><p>"Are you sure about that?"</p><p>They were locked in a staring contest. The grip on him tightened and nearly pulled him closer--</p><p>"<em> And scene? </em>!"</p><p>The silence after that made the scene fall away, flake like biscuit crumbs and peel like a snake shed. Hisoka retracted his hand and himself with alarming speed. Their proximity lessened, and Hisoka <em> jogged </em> to his water bottle. Tsumugi clapped quietly, but Homare saw that their audience were averting their gazes. Only Azuma had a smile, his usual default, steadfast and unreadable in this context.</p><p>"A-alrighty! That was very. Er. Tense! Nice job to you both for b-bouncing off each other…"</p><p>"Next is…"</p><p>Homare's eyes trained on Hisoka who sat down next to Azuma. He wouldn't look back.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Hisoka bolted out of practice when they were released. No longer amped up, the visible pullback from him disheartened Homare for reasons he couldn't discern. It felt like looking at your car keys locked inside your car, dropping your ice cream cone on the floor in public, or even going into the doctor's office for a long-awaited check up. </p><p>Was… his stomach tied in knots…?</p><p>That was an intense acting session, yes, and it made his chest tighten with just how into it he was, yes, but they'd had scenes that were more emotionally taxing, even more stimulating! There was no logical explanation as to why this one loaded moment of <em> acting </em> was so shocking to them both. The gnawing feeling had the rope wound too tight and rubbing his throat dry, ready to snap when he realized that regardless of whatever he was feeling -- he had done <em> something </em> to chase Hisoka away.</p><p>As per usual, he'd probably taken it too far.</p><p>Besides Guy and Izumi who had plans with Sakuya, everyone loitered as most of Mankai were going about their day already. After all - the room was in high demand and two of the company's actor junkies were in the groove. Before leaving, the duo spared a painful grimace (<em> A failure of a smile </em> nagged his grandmother's voice) towards him before leaving, and then four were left.</p><p>"Okay, I'll just go ahead and say it. That was hot, Arisugawa. Didn't know you had it in you," complimented Tasuku. His light blush was not lost on Homare who's jaw actually dropped.</p><p>"I genuinely thought I'd only see a performance like that from Azuma, but wow! Did you and Hisoka plan that?"</p><p>"Not exactly. It… it was all very spur of the moment."</p><p>Growing up, Homare had a hard time with maintaining eye contact. As he grew older, Grandmother drilled it into him that he had to be polite. In his 29 years of life, he was now a pro, but in this moment, he felt restless. He could see them looking back, and Azuma’s scanning made him feel like a butterfly pinned. An insect waiting for dissection! Yuck! They all wore unconcealed looks of surprise, but Azuma's hurt Homare the most. There was no ill intention behind it, yet his emotions were aboard a turbulent boat in dark waters.</p><p>The etude that had just shaken his core. He felt like he'd passed a visible marker -- a goal he didn't know he had in acting. Improv was intimidating with its need for quick reaction while bleeding real feelings, and he'd done it effortlessly with Hisoka. When joining Mankai, he had been praised for his ethereal presence and fantasy feel. However, upon joining the refined group with the oldest members, he had to learn how to fit in. It was tumultuous and hurt sometimes, but it was worth it. They were all people who took things seriously, and their plays overall had dark, mysterious tones that were not made for a magic act or showing off. It was all in the flick of the wrist, the riveting back and forth, sneaky glances and ugly truths.</p><p>If only he knew what the ugly truth here was!</p><p>His boat submerged and he heard them talking, garbled through the slurry until a gentle hand pulled him out on his shoulder.</p><p>“Ah, I’m beat. Homare, would you like to get some lunch with me?”</p><p>A grounding misconception that he was saved actually turned out that he’d been swept up by a stronger current, and not even an hour later, Azuma and Homare were in their Sunday best. As disorientated as he was, his imagination continued running wild. If Homare closed his eyes, he was still there. When he opened them, only his friend walked beside him. The respectful space between them felt tangible; Homare felt like an anchor had dropped, and he’d be saved sooner than later.</p><p>They’d left the house and walked just a few neighborhoods with Azuma making amicable conversation. He pointed out small things he noticed, baby birds taking flight lessons to a building's neat architecture, and he shared entertaining anecdotes that the little things reminded him of. When silence fell, it was never stifling and Homare eventually joined in, a semblance of what he knew.</p><p>On outings, Azuma was the one most likely to show someone a new place than the other way around. The status quo remained when he beckoned Homare to a nook and cranny sandwich shop that for its quaint energy - it still had a fine sheen of glamour and nicety for its location and size. Homare felt like he’d become some kind of Borrower, dwarfed by the plant, or plants, that fused to become one mass of greenery on all four walls, and the menus themselves were written on recycled stationery. Very cute, very chic! Before he got to ask if Yuki knew about this place, they were ordering and served in an eerily quick fashion. Very magical!</p><p>The food arrangement had him embody a Western anthropomorphic animal in pilgrim clothes, all buttered breads and rabbit food of fresh vegetables. A booming, enthusiastic voice rang in his ear saying “cottage-core,” and Homare could only nod in agreeance to the probably-Kazunari in his head. Indulging for a few more peaceful moments while Homare analyzed and thoroughly enjoyed everything, Azuma eventually slowed down (his already slow and graceful pace) and wiped at his mouth (impeccably spotless already).</p><p>“Can I ask how you’re doing? For real?”</p><p>The waves that had been receded had actually been pulled by the moon in broad daylight, gravity getting them ready to crash on him as a merciless wave.</p><p>In the past, Homare would have brushed the question off. He would have adamantly and much too transparently said that there was nothing to worry about because dealing with it directly was so… <em> unpoetic </em>. The feelings elicited from a piece of art were so much more easy to understand, and they didn’t hurt others because beauty is in the eye of the beholder. There was no beauty in what he was going through.</p><p>Artistry because it was subjective. He could put as much into it as he’d like when evaluating or creating, and no one in the entire world could understand it the way he did. Its worth couldn’t be undermined, only varied. It was objectively easier to understand than people with tumultuous emotions and conflicting thoughts.</p><p>He had to figure out that he hated being called out on his ways just as much as others did as he was often to do. Always an accident.</p><p>However - that was the past. Now, he sat in front of Azuma - a man full of stories, elegance, patience, and kindness -- things Homare incredibly valued. Azuma who held no judgment in his eyes. The scariest kind of acceptance, working things out, and terribly good at revising things in real life. Homare <em> did </em> owe him for the advice on seeking Hisoka because that was the initial moment he'd put his first pin in the mental "Passion" corkboard. His first pain of the month that felt like it took place eons ago.</p><p>“Azuma-san… what do you think went wrong this morning? I thought our skit was excellent. I <em> know </em>it was good! Did I mess up somewhere?”</p><p>His companion mulled it over with his eyebrows bunched, and Homare guiltily hoped he wouldn’t get wrinkles over this.</p><p>“It was good. I don’t think you did anything wrong,” he said with such sincerity, Homare almost believed him.</p><p>“Then why did Hisoka-kun run out like that? It reminded me of… well, I’ve had others walk away from me for things I’ve said. You included, Azuma-san.”</p><p>“That was before we knew each other well. Now I know you always have the best intentions for others."</p><p>"Then where does the distance lie?! I thought...I felt something charged between us and we both went for it. Why did he leave?"</p><p>"You know Hisoka-kun the best. Do you really think you did something wrong?”</p><p>Objectively, no. Homare was still in charge of his facilities enough to realize this. Still, a persisting fear lapped at him even with the logic and kindness being aimed at him.</p><p>He stayed quiet and Azuma sighed, unsightly and deeply saddening to Homare’s sensitivities.</p><p>“I hope I’m not talking out of turn, so stop me if it’s too much. You really didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t say the ‘problem lies with Hisoka,’ but he may have just been startled. Not by you, but how… <em> passionate </em> he got with you.”</p><p>“Why would that be a bad thing? We’re actors! Isn’t that what we aim for?”</p><p>“Well… consider how you feel about Hisoka. How do you think he feels about you? Maybe he isn’t ready to face that.”</p><p>This thread of conversation was getting stranger and stranger, or maybe Homare just felt like he was floating further and further away from just where he needed to be.</p><p>“Why should it matter how I feel about Hisoka? Hisoka is…”</p><p>He had the words for Hisoka, but putting them out in the open felt like showing your weakness to an enemy, or leaving a wound susceptible to infection. Homare mixed and minced what he could say, but he got caught on the fine lines of memories. </p><p>When Hisoka is relaxing around Homare, he’d often snuggle up to the warmest thing in the vicinity. More often than not, it was someone else in the living room which always got a laugh and some endearments from everyone. When it's them alone, he’d sit close. Most of the time, it wasn’t enough to touch. Sometimes, their knees gently knocked, and Hisoka would take the initiative to scoot just a notch closer, just close enough that Homare’s acutely aware of his languid breathing, of his bony shoulder. Every time Homare hummed in their room, Hisoka wiggled his foot in the barest of movements.</p><p>When they went shopping, they effortlessly maneuvered around each other to get what everyone else needed. Yes, they bickered about how many sweets or tea they should buy, but there was always a compromise. “They go well together, so it’ll work out!” he told Hisoka. </p><p>During their final showing of Risky Game’s finale, Homare had seen as much as he understood Hisoka’s success. He watched him try again and again to get closure, no small amount of envy thrummed through him. It didn’t compare to the abundance of relief. He smiled small on stage and smaller off. Before they’d even gotten onstage that day, he had said such bold words to Homare - passing off the marshmallows Homare’d gotten for him and asking him to wait for him. Did that mean he may not have come home that night? The scenario had tears gather in his eyes. When he got back, he looked like he was ready to throw that ring off his cliff with Chikage by his side.</p><p>All the times that he’d lugged him to bed and all the times Hisoka reigned in his distracting tangents during practice came to mind. Then, of course, there was this morning’s skit. Sweat plastered to Hisoka’s temple that had his hair, hilariously reminiscent of a marshmallow, framing his rounded cheek. With how close they were, he could count his fair, scarce eyelashes. His bottom lip stuck out for perfect pouts perfectly, and he smelled like too sweet spun sugar.</p><p>For being someone so lethargic, so unmotivated at first glance -- Hisoka thought being passionate, usually associated with fire and haste and aggression, wasn’t so bad.</p><p>Hisoka. Clingy, sleepy, cheeky, brusque, small, imposing, skillful, agile, quiet, cute, handsome, caring, giving, observant, understanding Hisoka wasn’t so bad.</p><p>Hisoka, who Homare thought depended on him until this moment when he revolved around his presence just as much. </p><p>A physical wave just as much as a mental one sweeped Homare under, and he stared down Azuma who had been lost along the way of his contemplation.</p><p>“I am really, really passionate about him.”</p><p>That sounded so much better than “Hisoka is the ocean, and I am drowning.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Homare was passionate about art. Adrenaline rush and the need to put his all into it. He wanted to know more about it, refine it, cultivate it so his muscles and essence were familiar with nothing else better.. Luckily, “art” was so vast and intricate that he’d be able to study and work until the end of his days if he so pleased (and he did). </p><p>Passion came to him like dreams, nonsensical, riveting, pretty in pink.</p><p>Hisoka didn’t come back to their room that night and wasn’t answering his texts, but Homare still saw him that evening.</p><p>Behind their closed door and behind his eyelids, the full moon - gigantic, luminous, and <em> right there </em>- lit his way across the clouds under his feet. The light was refracting him like a red gem and made everything tinted a rose color with no dark nook or crevice, and without looking, he knew his footprints landed heavy with each step he took forward. It was akin to wading through molasses, but it was exciting to be moving forward while knowing the clouds could make him pour down as rain any second.</p><p>Glee held him afloat and only rose when he saw Hisoka standing still a few feet away.</p><p>He was the only thing that cast a shadow up above the world so high, but Homare could make out footprints leading up to him as well. Hisoka didn’t notice him because he was too busy looking at the moon. Something sweeter than sadness but more bitter than he could whispered to him in the wind, and he began making his way directly towards him. The breeze helped him on his trek, but to his dismay, he was propelled forward. Hisoka turned his head towards him and poised himself to run, but he was met with a wall of wind. Held back by something neither of them could resist, they couldn’t reach each other and then Homare blinked.</p><p>In the ways only dreams can disorientate, he was sent somewhere else in no time at all. It seemed to be the same landscape sans his partner and the previous light source which had become the sun. It was much too close, way too close in a dooming way. All he could focus on was the sweltering heat and pain in his chest, big rocks dropped onto him all at once, until the clouds began breaking. Falling felt like a relief and the air cooled him, but the heat had already burnt his lungs. Looking up, he was blinded but could make out a feminine figure in red watching him go before turning away.</p><p>He woke before sunrise and began writing.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Passion also came in the form of love. Homare had known love despite his flaws: his grandparents loved him for his mechanical behavior and all, and his ex-girlfriend <em> must </em> have enjoyed his company for as long as they lasted (and he ruined it). He’d known deep affection when he created real bonds with Winter Troupe, and that extended to the acting company as a whole. Homare was the kind of man who put all or nothing, and he knew many people like that. He wouldn’t go so far to say they were at his level of dedication, but maybe they were just too young to know what love was.</p><p>With certainty, Homare loved Hisoka.</p><p>He wouldn’t say it out loud - he had shame in his body contrary to belief! Instead, he’d nurture it until it bloomed. Until he could catch Hisoka like a venus fly trap his prey! ...Perhaps more encouragingly and less deadly.</p><p>Unfortunately, Hisoka had evaded his grasp for a whole week, and it was getting him down. “It was, like, totally bumming him out” he’d learned. The day of their last meeting and Azuma’s lunch date, he’d been given the wisdom to talk to Hisoka. He wasn’t even getting the chance to rectify their misunderstanding! They could be cuddling, or just be friends-ing instead of this tortuous pining.</p><p>At least he was almost done with his anthology. In his stupor (often mopey and often fevered), he’d written over a hundred poems in the span of seven days. That was a lot of hours and a lot of hand cramps along with some nagging from the younger generation that believed in self-care. He promised to rest when he was done! Just a few more hours left in terms of working, and truly, how bad could it be. He was inspired. It hurt to think about, but love was a fantastic synonym for passion. He loved acting, he loved writing, he loved reading. He loved deeply and in an unstoppable manner! It was lovely and also the most painful experience he’d had to date.</p><p>Majority of the poem’s tone cloyed the senses, so sweet it haunted.</p><p>In his first and previous romantic endeavor, he was courted by a fiery lady. She was flame incarnate, almost too gorgeous to look at full of burning sentiment. Her emotions ruled her, and Homare was fascinated and entranced. At the end of their term, he was cursed by it. They had a very difficult time understanding each other at their worst, and at their best - well, it was nice. Homare didn’t know if he truly loved her, but he cared for her deeply. How could he not? At the time, he didn’t have many people close to him, and she had forced her way to be beside him. </p><p>Hisoka was the opposite of a girl on fire, but he was just as much of a spitfire when it came down to it. Sassy was Homare’s type, evidently. Not every moment was burning and exhilarating, but Homare discovered he was pretty passionate about the quieter moments, too. There was such a thing as being passionate about the permanence of having someone beside him. Someone who does their own thing while being just as invested in him. Homare knew heartbreak and the loss of passion it wrought, but he liked the flame so much that he couldn’t stay away. If he were a house, he’d long been consumed.</p><p>The two of them were as different as night and day, yet they clicked together like pieces of a machine, a well oiled watch that let the time pass by them peacefully.</p><p>There was a stretch of time that Homare had to mull over this. It seemed like the answer was always there. Always in the way that it snuck up on him and took root right before his eyes, and not always since the beginning. It made him sappy and just as anxiety riddled as anything ought to, but he <em> knew </em> the situation could be smoothed over.</p><p>To his surprise, others did not know that he knew this, and they were on tenterhooks around him. Obnoxious displays of affection and extra support meant that the kids would line up to dump vegetables on his plate at dinner, Yuki would compliment his outfit and leave out the usual comment about his haircut, and even Tsuzuru promised to let him lead their next book club meeting! It was absolute chaos, but he was a plant being tended to so kindly, he flourished. Now, to find his ultimate vitamin healthy soil.</p><p>Chikage found him first. Homare had been meaning to seek him out the day after The Realization (like Project Passion, he coined the term himself), but the universe directed him the opposite way. They were always busy when the other was, and every time they got too close- they’d be pulled away to more distractions. The looks from behind the glasses were too much from the get go, but Homare had steeled himself to meet him halfway. Chikage was something to Hisoka that no one would ever be, and he respected that.</p><p>(If there were feathers in his throat at the thought of their closeness, that was for him to know and no one else to find out about.)</p><p>He was cornered in the courtyard after hours. For being a morning person, he sure was up late. Tsumugi’s garden was fragrant and Homare’s focus went in and out on the closed flower buds and Chikage with his hands in his pockets. They’d reached a seat, but neither bothered to sit. Chikage wasn’t one to fiddle or twitch, and his face gave away nothing. Usually, that would put Homare at unease, but he fully believed the other man had no ill intention. </p><p>“My bad if this is too direct, but did you and Hisoka break up?”</p><p>“... We… were not together in that sense.”</p><p>“... Ah. It is my bad, then.”</p><p>If they were to add Guy, they’d have a pretty good trio of tall robotic men; the thought was enough to make Homare giggle had that not been a shot to the heart. Chikage <em> then </em> adjusted his glasses under the dim light, and Homare couldn’t help but break eye contact and stare at the flowers. The two of them probably painted an odd picture. </p><p>“That probably makes things easier on my end. He likes you. Before either of you can get any more twisted up about this, please know that he <em> really </em>likes you. He’s been mooching off me for a week and I’m ready to return him.”</p><p>Homare didn’t know if this was the truth, but a niggling insecurity told him that he knew Hisoka better than he ever will. On the other hand, that meant that his words rang true which made him short-circuit. He had never, ever really been sure about his own observations and what they meant. Empathy was a learned skill that he was still developing. Yet, he thought back with every rose-colored glass he could layer and would be remiss to miss Hisoka’s lingering looks, his touch more frequent on him than anyone else, and the smiles he got when Hisoka thought he wasn’t looking. Did Hisoka lose his mind over Homare the way he did for him?</p><p>“You two are close, so I don’t know how much he’s told you about his past. He’s probably being dramatic and thinking he’s something bad that can hurt you. That’s why he’s hiding from you. Don’t cut me off, let me finish-”</p><p>Homare closed his mouth with an audible clack of teeth.</p><p>“And before you say something bold and stupid - his <em> favorite </em>- like ‘That doesn’t matter,’ consider his position. With his feelings for you, he could put you in danger. The worst is that you die and he has to live with the guilt.”</p><p>Bringing up death was a potent poison that infested his blood, and he stiffened. There was nothing for him to say to that. <em> What </em> could he say to that? His love wasn’t worth Hisoka’s suffering.</p><p>Chikage pulled out a box of cigarettes only to open and close the box repetitively. They both watched the movement, silence settling like blades until Chikage caught his stare deadon. Just as demanding as his brother.</p><p>“But, Arisugawa. I’ll tell you. He’s being dumb.</p><p>I’ve already told him to live a different life, but he’s still stuck in the past. I’m not trying to dissuade you from ‘courting him’ or whatever. I want nothing more than for you and him to be happy. Don't tell him I said that.”</p><p>‘Or there will be consequences’ went unspoken, but Homare was too dumbfounded to fear an empty threat. Chikage was his personal angel that had descended and granted him strength. Permission, even! Homare was in the clouds again, and they parted to let in the bright moonlight.</p><p>Chikage reflected his smile to Homare when he finished. “I will do everything in my power for you both to live normal lives. First though, I need you to promise and tell me if it's even worth it,” Chikage smiled right back like a mirror, clear water, fresh rain in April showers.</p><p>Time slowed, the phantom weight of his clockwatch in his pocket thrummed, while Homare readied and steadied himself.</p><p>All he used to know was a quick, never-ending pace. Hisoka was fully capable, but what impressed Homare was his ability to put one foot in front of the other, sure and confident. Homare <em> appreciated </em> seeing the shoes he so desperately wanted to put himself in.</p><p>Hisoka's passion shocked and seeped and made him <em> feel </em>in the smallest moments in the largest of ways. That was powerful. That was wonderful.</p><p>There was solace in breezes, with their capacity to cool and uplift. Hisoka held him aloft similarly. Both were grand, and they shaped his day from his emotions to his interests. It was all encompassing, purely demanding, and Homare was fortunate to be so captivated, so malleable.</p><p>He was a simple pleasure and his greatest indulgence.</p><p>“I love him. I care for him more than I have ever with anything. If I have the honor to actually receive anything from him, romantic or not, I want it. I need Hisoka in my life for as long as he wants to be around me.”</p><p>From the shadows in the courtyard, a figure shifted and came to light.</p><p>Chikage didn’t look surprised nor did he bother turning around when he mumbled “You heard him. Stop being a baby.” He walked right by Homare to pat his shoulder and was gone in a flash, just a necessary drizzle.</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Up on the clouds and down below, both of their footprints met in the middle like their destination was the same -- like they walked different paths only to fall into each other.</p><p>The glow of the courtyard was lit up enough that Homare could see Hisoka’s cheeks ruddy and the tremble in his hand held to his chest.</p><p>“You two both talk too much,” is the first thing Homare is told after The Confession.</p><p>“You wound me! I’ve already sworn to stay by your side with our troupe, Hisoka-kun. I’m afraid you’ll have to listen to me for as long as you wish.”</p><p>“Shhh. I’m tired. I couldn’t get any rest in Chikage’s room ‘cuz Itaru is too noisy. At least you sleep.”</p><p>“If I’m being completely honest this heartfelt evening - I haven’t because I was so worried about you!”</p><p>“Let’s get to bed, then.”</p><p>A slight breeze battered him, but they swayed together and held onto one another before turning in. </p><p>When they kissed, and it was nothing less than passionate and poetic.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>“Maybe passion was the friends you made along the way,” jokes Itaru at the breakfast table and gets a dead look from Chikage and Tsuzuru.</p><p>Today, he is eating toast. Notably, Homare and Itaru push away the bowl of fish eggs in solidarity.</p><p>It’s a riot as usual. He’d just finished a cup of imported tea that he’d been gifted by Citron, and Izumi ran out of the hallway with flyaway hairs and her pajamas dishevelled.</p><p>“Tsumugi-kun, why did you sound so panicked in that voicemail?!”</p><p>“I’m so, so sorry! I couldn’t figure out how to end the call quick enough!”</p><p>There was musical, cacophonous laughter, and Homare was able to ignore the idea of spit flying because he loved everyone here. Anyways, he was on his way to the sink to wash his hands.</p><p>Just in time, Hisoka appeared right beside him with Omi flanking him. A passive aggressive offer of some trail mix was respectfully regarded, and then the two of them were off. Hisoka picked out the sweet, soft fruits and pointedly left the peanuts.</p><p>“Why do I have to go again?”</p><p>“I want you there! You’re the inspiration for a good amount of them, you know.”</p><p>“I don’t remember giving you permission for that.”</p><p>“Would you have me go through all of that again and rewrite my entire novel?!”</p><p>They go back and forth all the way to his publishing firm. The same sights were still new, and Homare gently rocked their joined hands together while they walked. Right before they entered the building, Homare caught Hisoka smiling up at him.</p><p>“What could you be plotting, my dear?”</p><p>A pout and deep set, furrowed brows replaced the quirk of lips, and Homare laughed.</p><p>“Rude. I don’t have the energy to do anything right now.”</p><p>“Yes, I do think I know what feels like now,” he concluded.</p><p> </p><p>❄</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>You make me know myself.</strong>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ther next work in the series is a short explicit extra that I intended to have here, but it worked out better and let this be more accessible for others.</p><p>Thank you for reading. &lt;3</p><p>Please do retweet <a href="https://twitter.com/opanimeboyy/status/1375718697684271106?s=20">here</a> if you have a moment! ^^</p><p>For transparency, and you may have noticed, I actually... really dislike poetry, ahaha (I am SO sorry King 😔). I hope the "artistic rambles" still felt ~in character! Definitely wanted to play his lack of self awareness + insecurities, but for time's sake, I cut it out. I would be atrocious at slow burn, lolol.</p><p>azu: seems to me youre pretty passionate about hisoka<br/>homa: hmhm! as much as a teammate should be!<br/>azu: ....... teammate?<br/>homa:<br/>homa: y...yes?</p><p>It's sad, but this may be my final A3! piece bc I'm really into MXTX works (really good books to read, or watch The Untamed on Netflix!). This game was what kept me afloat for most of 2020 and these two will FOREVER be comforting characters along with most of Mankai. FOUND FAMILY TROPE!!!!!</p><p>This was the fruit of a lot of rushed all-nighters foolishly done way too close to the deadline, and using my own writer's block AND procrastination as ~inspiration~ hehe. I have TONS of tidbits that didn't make it into the story, so please feel free to ask and let me talk your ear off. And a big please for comments and/or kudos because they keep me going. Thanks again!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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